Fevers, Flowers and Visitors in the Night
by Convenient Alias
Summary: Attolia was sick in two ways. Sick with a fever and sick of the thief of Eddis sneaking into her palace. As for Eugenides, he probably was just there for the architecture.
Attolia was sick in two ways. Sick with a fever (and the doctor said she should be fine after a few days, as long as she took care of herself and stayed in bed) and sick of the thief of Eddis sneaking into her palace and making her look like a fool. The two types of sickness were not entirely separated: Rather they swirled together, feeding on each other, each becoming stronger and sicker in turn.

Usually he was not so impudent as to allow her to see him. He would sneak through the vents or stay on the roof or in the shadows. But last night she had felt his presence in the darkness of her abandoned room, seen his outline even. But when she had called the guards, of course, he had been long gone-And she had been too weak to get out of bed and catch him herself.

And no, he didn't frighten her like he frightened the king of Sounis, who feared the thief might turn assassin. She knew he had too weak a stomach. Only a boy, only a boy. But she didn't like him in her palace, and one day she swore she would find a way to keep him out.

For now, she just had to stay awake. She had to be awake to see him if he came into her room tonight. She knew he would come into her room tonight.

She had told Phresine the same earlier. "You had better stay away from my room tonight, Phresine," she had said.

"Yes, your Majesty," Phresine had said, and diplomatically added, "Why?"

It was clear that Attolia was not in best form if Phresine dared to ask her why. But it was all right. She had an answer to that, an answer to everything. "Eugenides will be coming tonight."

"The boy or the god?" Phresine asked.

Perhaps both. Strange things had been happening in Attolia lately, and Attolia had a restless feeling in her blood. But she suspected Phresine was only mocking her. She said, "The boy. He was in my room last night."

"Ah," Phresine said. She continued brushing Attolia's hair, gentle and firm. Attolia had barely been out of bed in days, and her hair didn't need all that upkeep. But she accepted it. After all, Eugenides would be coming tonight, and she needed to be in good form. Better form than now, when she couldn't even frighten Phresine into submission.

"They think I imagined him last night."

Phresine didn't respond.

"What do you think?" Attolia said, lifting an eyebrow with a mocking smile. She doubted she would get the truth out of her diplomatic servant, but at least she would get respect.

"If you say he was here, I do not doubt it," Phresine said.

"Of course not."

"And you say he will be back again tonight."

"He is too insolent to stay away," Attolia said. He had grown bolder and bolder in the past months. She didn't know if he came at Eddis' command or if he just came of his own desire, a taunting phantom who desired nothing more than to see her go mad. Little jabs, whispers in empty rooms, flowers left in her bedroom that the maids knew nothing of, footsteps in the vents and, just a couple times, small written notes. He wanted her to know he was there. He wanted her attention. Tonight he would come to mock her again.

Phresine hummed, pulling the brush through one last tangle in her hair. "They say the thief of Eddis is dangerous. For his queen, they say he'd even kill."

"A baby," Attolia said. "But I suppose dangerous in his own way."

"I know my queen will be careful," Phresine said.

Which was her own way of telling Attolia she had better. But she was a good attendant, and a good attendant never outright told her mistress what she had better do. She'd be soon out of a job that way, and out of the queen's favor, which was worse.

"I know how to take care of myself, Phresine," Attolia said.

Phresine smiled and nodded, and Attolia did not call her out on her doubt.

/.../.../

Lying in the darkness, Attolia listened to every little sound. Not that she was jumpy. Of course not. But he was coming; she felt it in her blood. She had known it all day, while the doctors had fussed at her and a very few trusted ministers had been allowed in to meet with her for urgent matters. Known it while she drank the disgusting herbal concoction that was meant to bring down her fever, while a younger attendant helped her with her bath, while Relius reported the rumors around the palace (including the expected foolish rumors that she was on her deathbed, and the news of who seemed happiest at this expectation). It had all seemed trivial, and while she had tried to ignore the feeling, it kept nagging at the edge of her mind. The thief would be coming tonight, she knew it, and tonight, tonight...

She didn't know what would happen but it would be important.

Foolish. She turned restlessly in bed. Most likely it would be like all the other nights before. He would come, and he would leave, and that would be all there was to it. He was a ghost at his worst, and ghosts couldn't hurt you. Ghosts only ever watched and waited, and perhaps left a little shiver running down your spine.

(She was shivering, in fact, and she pulled the sheets closer around herself. But that was, perhaps, only the fever.)

And then, he was there.

She wasn't sure how she knew it. It was like a shift in the temperature of the room, or a scent that had floated in from the vents (the window as shut and the curtains drawn) or a taste at the back of her throat. But she knew he was there, and when she listened carefully, yes, she could hear the sound of his breath, quiet as it was.

"Good evening, Thief," she said to the thief.

She wasn't sure she expected him to respond. He was the night, and the night did not speak to you. And for a long moment of silence she was certain he was just going to ignore her greeting and stand around in the dark room as usual, or perhaps run before she called the guard.

When he did speak, it caught her by surprise, partly because she had not expected a response and partly because he was closer than she had thought, standing only a foot or so away from the head of her bed.

"You are wrong to say, 'Good evening, Thief'."

Her breath caught in her throat, and she hoped he didn't notice. At least in the darkness he would not be able to see if her face was surprised, even if it also meant she could barely make out his outline as well.

"Brave boy, to say I am wrong," she said lightly. If she thought the guards could actually catch him, she would have them throw him in the dungeon for the next month to pay for his impudence. "How is that so?"

"First, it is night and not evening," Eugenides said, sitting down (the nerve!) on the edge of the bed. "So you should be saying 'good night'."

"Mm. But I am not going to sleep and neither are you," Attolia said. "For us, it is yet early."

Eugenides chuckled and she bit her tongue. "Perhaps you should sleep, queen. You are very ill."

As he would know because of his spying. "And let you creep around my palace at will?" she asked.

"I'll make you a bargain," he said. "Go to sleep and I'll stay in this room and not go anywhere else."

She shuddered to think of him in her room as she slept. "That is not the kind of bargain I prefer," she said. "You said first. How else was I wrong?"

"You ought not to call me 'thief'," he said. "You ought to call me Gen."

"I'll call a spade a spade," she said. "And an idiot an idiot, and a thief a thief. You are two of the three, foolish thief."

"We can compromise." He stood. "If that's too familiar for you, you can call me Eugenides instead. It is probably more proper anyway."

She was tired of arguing with him, but neither would she admit that when she thought of him he was already Eugenides in her mind. Doubtless most thought of him as the same-it was as much his title as his name. Yet when he spoke the name as a suggestion, it suddenly did sound overly familiar, almost intimate.

Instead of arguing the point, she said, "You have been roaming all over my castle."

"So I have," he said. She could hear him lean against the wall near her headboard, the fabric of his clothing shifting. She could picture what he would look like with the light on: his arms crossed and perhaps his legs as well, his eyes bright and fixed on her face, and a single eyebrow quirked, challenging her. What was she going to do about it, after all?

"You seem very fond of it," she said.

"I do appreciate the architecture."

As if she didn't know that he probably knew of more secret passages in the palace than even she herself. She ignored the taunt in his words and said, "If you're so devoted to my castle, you should have accepted my offer."

"Trust that I considered it deeply," Eugenides said.

As if he would ever have betrayed the queen of Eddis. Attolia snorted. "But your mistress is ever so much more kind." And she remembered his smug smile when he had said the words the last time they had spoken in person, remembered the rage that had risen in her belly at seeing such triumph from someone so helpless, a mere boy, injured and her prisoner. She'd been angry because she had heard of the thief of Eddis before then, had heard of his wicked ways at court and how much Eddis loved him, but she had never seen him until that moment, had never known how wild he was, how uncontrollable and, even imprisoned by a woman far more powerful than he, how free.

Eddis got all the best toys.

Eugenides was chuckling again, no doubt with that same smug smile, a nostalgic archer remembering a shot well placed. "Far more kind, queen."

And then, before she could answer (and she had answers stored up, oh yes, about how he would see that lack of kindness demonstrated against him should he loiter in her palace much longer) he was leaning forward, his mouth close to her ear, and he whispered, "But you are more lovely."

His breath was warm.

She shivered and turned away from him, knowing he mocked her. If there was one thing that counted for nothing in politics, she'd learned, it was beauty.

"You smell of sweat," he said. "Poor queen. You must be very sick."

With a scowl she knew he couldn't see at this angle even if his night vision were as good of that of a cat and not a simple human thief, she said, "I am well enough. You may tell Eddis not to expect my death for some time yet."

Eugenides said, "If you wish." He paused. "She did not send me here."

Attolia did not know what to say to that. He might be lying, of course. But if he was, it might be best to play along with it, see what he had to gain. "Then what are you doing in my palace, little thief?"

"A thief goes where he will," he said. "Perhaps I do just like the architecture. Perhaps there are other sights I long to see."

Her face went hot. So it amused him to see her on her sickbed, weak and helpless. An unwise jest. She swore to herself that one day she would see him brought just as low with equal pleasure. And from his voice, he drew more than a little pleasure from the sight.

"If you come here again, I will see you caught," she warned him. Fair was fair.

"If my god allows," he said.

They had said he had grown religious of late. Not that she listened to Relius' reports about him with any particular interest. Still, a peculiarity among the apathetic nobles of Eddis.

He sat back down on the edge of her bed again. Even with her back turned to him, she could feel the heat radiating off his back. He was too close, too close. She ought to call the guards.

But he was just a boy, and her throat was sore.

She tried to stay stiff but she was too tired, and with the added warmth she found herself slowly melting into her mattress. Her head hurt, and the world was hot and cold, and there was a boy sitting on her bed who was a thief and an enemy and smelled, close by her side, like Eddisian incense. And if he was going to kill her, he could do it before the guards got there anyway.

And as the world grew fuzzy and drifted away from her, she thought she heard him murmur, "Good night, Irene."

/…/…/

Those last words, Attolia decided in the morning, were most likely a hallucination. She wasn't sure why her fevered mind would conjure up such a tender voice coming from the thief's mouth, or a name that no one had used for her in years, but delirium created strange visions and noises, as did dreams.

In fact, she wasn't entirely sure any of the visit, or of any of the previous visits, had been anything but a hallucination. Eugenides did not approach her again in the week it took her to fully recover from the fever, and if she sometimes felt his eyes upon her at night or random other times throughout the day, it could just as easily be her imagination. She did not bring the matter up to her guards. They might think her paranoid, and she did not know how they could keep Eugenides out of the castle in any case. They might want to set a guard at her bedside, and that she would not stand for.

She did warn Teleus. "Eugenides has been in our castle."

The man wasn't horrified, exactly, but he was concerned. "How do you know?"

Because he'd stopped by for a conversation. Because he haunted her bedroom at night, always leaving her wondering whether he came as a menace or a protector, wondering why some part of her feverish self saw him as the latter. Because her sheets still had a faint smell of Eddisian incense on them underneath the scent of her own sweat. "He's been leaving me notes," she said, because that was the most easily proved. She still had the notes in her drawer.

And she went to fetch them to show him the carefully arced handwriting of the thief on the notes, saying such idiotic things as, "An admirer of your architecture" and "Hephestia keep your Majesty". But when she looked in the drawer where she had placed them, they were gone. Only the flowers in the vases remained to show Teleus, which she felt were rather less than convincing.

He told her the guard would keep their eyes open for the thief. But she could tell he was just humoring her. Disrespected in her own household. Eugenides had won again.

She left a note for him on her bedside table detailing exactly what she would do to him if he didn't get out and stay out. In the morning it was still sitting there, but next to it sat a golden brooch with garnets on it that was clearly in Eddisian fashion, not Attolian, so she figured he got the message.

She did not sense him in her room that night, and she tried to convince herself it was a relief.

/.../.../

/.../.../

AN: This is probably the creepiest romance I've ever written. But Eugenides and Attolia are never exactly healthy, and at least no hands were cut off. By the way, this story probably takes place in the interim between The Thief and The Queen of Attolia.

Reviews would be much loved and appreciated.


End file.
